


Chicago's Finest

by AnirtakShenwoi



Series: Billary AU's A/S [1]
Category: Billary - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 20:41:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10226897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnirtakShenwoi/pseuds/AnirtakShenwoi
Summary: "America's famous homicide detective, Hillary Rodham, and her new partner Bill Clinton, hunt down the serial killer that terrorizes the city of Chicago.  They have to work together before more people get killed - a seemingly simple task challenged by the growing feelings between them."Set, 1992.(summary provided by "gefiltefishwhereareweonthis")





	1. It's Rodham

**Author's Note:**

> Okay guys. I spent a good portion of my week working on this (Shh...I'd be fired if they knew). This story was suggested by "Gefiltefishwhereareweonthis" on Tumblr, and I decided to write it. The summary is what her suggestion stated, and I tried to stay as close to the summary as possible. This story is based extremely loosely on three pictures of Bill and Hillary from circa 1991/1992. Hopefully, I will be able to post them here. 
> 
> Because the story takes place in 1992, I have referenced music from that era throughout. If you're interested in hearing any of it, I have provided links in each chapter that will send you directly to their YouTube videos. The songs are great, so take a gander. Also, this story takes place in a completely different AU than my current Billary series, which is why I will not be adding it to that series. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy! I had fun writing it, and I tried to stay as close to the era as possible. Also, once again, if you're easily offended, please don't read it. There are plenty of other stories that should cater to your sensitivities.
> 
> Song link for "Headed for a Heartbreak" by Winger: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AIpRdbi9pYw

Detective Hillary Rodham's reputation preceded her. She was tough, hard-nosed, and determined to get the job done. After fifteen years on the force, her colleagues knew not to disturb her in the early morning. She needed her coffee and her briefings before she was personable. After that, she needed time to center herself before diving head first into investigations. Her long-time partner, Zack Foster, knew her routine well, and would slip papers under her door for review. That morning, it was new photos of the serial killer's latest victim—twenty-two year old Lisa Creek, a college student at the University of Illinois. They found her body in the Chicago River the night before, and Zack knew that Hillary would be even more determined to catch the killer. She always had a soft spot for female victims.

"Zack," she said, standing in his doorway. "Reviewed the photos." She took a deep breath. "Victim number five."

"Shit," he said, incensed.

"We have to find him before he kills number six." She fought to hold back her emotions. "She had her whole life ahead of her."

"I heard she couldn't afford a cab and decided to walk home."

"God, these girls have to be...!" She calmed her tone, clearing her throat before she continued, "They have to be more careful."

"Yeah," Zach said, knowing that continuing the conversation would only make Hillary more upset. "Coffee?"

"I already had two."

He nodded. "I have a meeting with the boss in ten. Performance assessment."

"You've done great."

"That's the thing, Hill. The better you do, the more likely they are to move you. It may sound crazy, but I have a weird feeling."

"Don't be silly," she said standing in the doorway. "He'd be nuts to split us up right now."

"You have a point, but you know how Dudley is..."

"I know that Dudley wants this case solved, and you're the only one I can work with. We'll head out to the crime scene when you’re done." She was determined to find this bastard.

"Sounds like a plan," Zack said, grabbing his paperwork before following her out the door.

<><><><><>

Hillary stared at the wall clock in her office. It'd been nearly forty-five minutes, and Zack still hadn't returned. The sweep hand seemed to move at an even slower pace.

"Hillary?" Dudley said standing in her doorway. His chunky face looked like an apology, and before he went any further, she closed her eyes. "I'm sorry, Hill. We need him on another case."

"Another case?! This is the biggest case in Chicago right now! What am I supposed to do without a partner?" 

He knew her temper well, and he expected her response. He sat down in the guest chair. "I'm not leaving you without a partner, Hillary." 

"Thomas? Harrison? Don't say Jackson. Jackson can't even make good coffee."

"His name's Bill. He's a newbie, and I figure you can show him the ropes."

"A newbie?" She closed her eyes and bit her lip from frustration. "I don't have time to teach anyone anything. This case is getting bigger by the day, and..."

"I know that, but..." he paused, trying to find the words. "You need fresh eyes. You've been looking at the details for too long, Hill. Now I know you're upset about this, but Bill is your new partner, and that's the end of it." 

She looked away, exasperated. 

"He's waiting to meet you in my office," the man said, struggling to lift his large body out the chair. "And try to be pleasant, Hillary. He's a good guy."

<><><><><>

The young, gray-haired man sat in the chair with headphones on, pretending he was playing an electric guitar. "Headed for a heaaaaartbreak..." he sang, oblivious to her presence. The more she watched his carefree attitude, the more she hated him. He spun around in Dudley's chair before locking eyes with her. She immediately looked away as he turned off his Walkman and walked towards her. 

"You must be Hillary," he said with a smile on his face as he extended his hand. "I'm Bill. Bill Clinton." She'd be lying if she said he wasn't attractive, but his seeming lack of seriousness was enough to squelch the thought. 

"Rodham," she said, shaking his hand firmly. "You can call me Rodham."

"No first names?" he asked, still grinning, oblivious to her seriousness.

She started walking back to her office, and he followed her. "We like to keep things professional around here," she said before stopping to face him. "You're Clinton from now on." She continued walking.

"That's fine by me," he said, smiling at everyone who walked past them. "Coach used to call me Clinton when I was on the team. Still does when I make the trek home to Arkansas."

"Arkansas?" He was worse that she thought.

"Yeah," he said, scratching his head. "I'm from Hot Springs, Arkansas. Born in Hope, though." She hated this conversation. "My mom moved to Hot Springs a few years after I was born. You know why it's called 'Hot Springs'?"

"No," she said curtly, already exasperated by his boyish charm as she gathered her papers.

"It's because the town is known for its Hot Springs on the slope of Hot Springs Mountain. It's a big tourist town, now. Our governor made sure that happened. Handsome guy. They say we look like twins." He noticed her reticence.  
"Did I say something wrong?"

"No," she said sharply. "The victim list is growing, and the longer we sit here talking about Arkansas the more dangerous the city of Chicago becomes."

He nodded, embarrassed by his friendliness. He swallowed as she ignored him. "Do you have the briefing papers?" he asked.

She paused, opening her file cabinet and handing him the folder. "It's all there. Latest victim is a college student. Decided to walk home alone last night. They found her in the Chicago River this morning."

He looked away. Like Hillary, Bill also had a soft spot regarding female victims. "Cause of death?"

"Stabbing."

He nodded again. "Sounds like a wealthy guy," he said, flipping to the third page.

"What would give you that idea?" 

"The method of murder." He held up one of the pages. "Knife kills indicate the desire for a slow death. And the only way to kill with a knife is to have the skill to use one. My guess is he was a fencer during his school days. A prep school, no doubt." Bill looked at the knife wounds in the picture of Lisa Creek. "Owns some rare Japanese swords according to this picture."

She was intrigued. She was also too proud to admit he added to the investigation. "Zack and I were headed to the crime scene before you were assigned to me this morning."

"Zack? No last name?"

She paused. "He was my partner. First names with partners."

He stood, slowly walking towards her while extending his hand. "I'm Bill," he whispered, southern accent so sultry that she had to take in a breath. "And you are?" he asked, determined to make her say her first name. She was beautiful, he thought, if not completely cold. But he'd been with women like her before, and he knew that coldness was usually a front to hide a depth of vulnerability. She grabbed his hand, feeling his fingers envelope hers. His grip was strong, and his skin was rough—a perfect combination in her mind. She looked up at him and saw that he was staring into her eyes. No way she would allow him the upper hand. 

"It's Rodham," she said grabbing her briefcase. "First names are earned, Clinton."

He smiled and nodded, knowing that he would eventually break her down.


	2. Down by the River

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song link to "Rainy Day Woman" by Waylon Jennings: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z1lhzi4uU8o

She pushed open the creaky back door, stepping down from the concrete loading dock onto the parking lot. It had been raining that morning, and the air smelled abnormally fresh.

"A gray Cadillac Brougham?" he said, looking at the car. "I'm used to a blue and white," he chuckled as she opened the driver's side door. 

"The more we blend, the easier it is to investigate." 

It started raining again once they were inside. She turned on the wipers as she backed out of the space.

"How long have you been with this department?" he asked.

"Fifteen years." She hoped that would be his last question. She wasn't in the mood for small talk. 

"Wow," he said, looking down at his hands. "I haven't been at any precinct for more than a year or two. Started out in Little Rock, then moved to Sheboygan for a while. After that I transferred over to Des Moines. Then I decided the I needed new scenery, so here I am in Chicago." Her silence made him uncomfortable, and he was desperate to fill the air. "Are you from the area?"

She nodded as she turned the corner, checking her mirrors as she did. "I was born in Chicago and raised in Park Ridge."

"A native," he said, looking at her hands. They were small and smooth, he thought. Just perfect, really.

They drove along in silence as the rain poured harder. She turned up her wipers and flicked the headlights on. Traffic started moving slowly, and once she stopped at the red light, she glanced over at his hands as they rested at his thighs. Aroused, she cleared her throat and turned on the radio. She landed on a country station once the static cleared. "Waylon Jennings?" he said. “ _Rainy Day Woman_. Fitting, don't you think?" He looked out the window before turning back to her. "I wouldn't have figured a Chicago girl would like country."

"I don’t," she said, switching to the news.

_Chicago area serial killer strikes again with the murder of Lisa Creek, a student at the University of Chicago. Police say that the young woman was murdered by stabbing, adding her death to the ongoing investigation._

At that moment, an erratic driver cut in front of them, causing Hillary to hit the brakes. After the small jolt, she took a deep breath, accustomed to inconsideration during inclement weather. "Piece of shit," Bill mumbled under his breath as his eyes trailed the car. Hillary remained silent, keeping her eyes on the road. The erratic driver was now next to her, driving dangerously close to her vehicle. Deeply impatient, he side-swiped her, causing her to lose control of the wheel. Acting fast, Bill grabbed it before they spun onto oncoming traffic.

"I got it!" she screamed, offended by his move.

"Not with us veering to the side, you don't!" he retorted.

They pulled to the emergency lane as the traffic continued to rush by. Hillary was shaken as she turned the engine off. 

"Are you okay?" he asked. He placed his hand on her shoulder, and she nudged it off. 

"I'm fine. Just because I'm a woman doesn't mean I can't control a car." She knew she was being unnecessarily combative, but she didn't want him thinking he could get over on her. Too many men had tried that before.

"I'm sorry," he said, southern voice even sexier. "I didn't mean to infer that you were a bad driver. It's just these other fucking drivers..."

She nodded, touched by his apology yet not wanting to show him that. "I just need a moment," she said, as she closed her eyes to gather herself. 

<><><><><>

Late that afternoon, they stood next to the Chicago River, and Bill noticed that Hillary was in another world. She stared down at the water, seemingly overwhelmed. After her earlier outburst in the car, he knew that trying to comfort her was out of the question. 

"See anything?" he asked.

She nodded without moving her focused gaze. "Pump print over in that mud." She pointed to her right. "Three strands of hair belonging to the victim." She looked down. "Shoe print, in that patch. Looks like Salvatore Ferragamo oxfords. You were right about him being wealthy."

Bill nodded as his eyes focused on her clues. He pointed to the crest of the river as his thick hair was drenched in rain. The sexiness wasn't lost on her. "Drops of blood," he said, squatting next to the evidence. "We should collect it."

"No, we just investigate. Cops collected everything last night. I just want to see the area for myself."

He nodded, staring at her while she focused on the details. Her eyes were really blue, he thought. Bluer than his. And there was a story behind them—perhaps one that was unsavory, but intriguing nonetheless. He desperately wanted to know more about her. "It's getting late. Maybe you wanna call your family—tell 'em you'll be out for a while?" He didn't see a ring, but he wanted confirmation.

She started walking back to the car. "No family," she said, taking out her 35mm camera and snapping the photo of the footprint. "Maybe you should call yours," she said flatly, annoyed.

He bit his lip to suppress his smile. "No family, either," he said as she took a few more shots. "Gets lonely sometimes. I've been thinking about getting a dog."

"Don't.” She stood up. "With these hours, it'd never get fed. Stick with goldfish."

He chuckled, "Will do."

They got in the car. "I need to get this film developed," she said as the faint scent of his cologne filled her nostrils. She licked her lips. "There's a place over on 5th Street that'll only take an hour."

"You're gonna wait?"

"I need these as soon as possible," she said, challenging his work ethic. 

He nodded, looking forward to spending more time with her. "Maybe we can grab a bite to eat while we wait. I hear there's an Italian restaurant a block or so away. I'm in the mood for spaghetti."

She swallowed, focusing on the road. 

"Unless you'd prefer something else. Say a burger? I love McDonalds."

She really wanted to hate him, but his charm was wearing her down. "Italian is fine," she said, stone-faced. "Then I'll be able to bring leftovers home. I don't cook much." 

"Well, I do," he said excitedly. "I make everything anyone would want to eat. Collard greens, corn bread, yams, chicken, steaks—I'm not too good with desserts, but I've never been ashamed of picking up a pie or two from the market..."

She cracked a smile and tried to suppress it before he saw it. But he did, and he knew that he would soon break her down. 

"Maybe, you know, eventually, when you’re hungry and don't want leftovers, you can come by my place," he said nervously. "Then we can go over paperwork in a more relaxed setting." He was desperate to see her response.

"I don't do 'relaxed settings'. This work isn't meant to be relaxing. People's lives are on the line, and as long as their families don't relax, I won't either."

He looked at her, concerned. "Rodham, I know you take your work seriously, but there's more to life. It’s pivotal that you take care of yourself if you're gonna take care of others."

She looked over at him, upset about how easily he saw through her. "I'm not hungry," she said, feeling teary. "I'll get these photos developed after I drop you off at the station. Wouldn't wanna hold you from your life."

<><><><><>

He watched under the precinct awning as she pulled off. He couldn't be upset with her, because there was something about her—something mysterious. And although she pretended that she hated him, he was much too astute to believe that assessment. He tried to push it from his mind, but if asked, he’d say that Hillary Rodham was his soulmate.


	3. Welcomed Threats

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter in which the pictures are relevant. Enjoy!
> 
> The song link to "Diamonds and Pearls" by Prince is not available on YouTube (of course it's not. It's Prince!) However, there is a semi-decent cover on there at this link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8kB_iU-DjWQ

[](http://s44.photobucket.com/user/anirtakshenwoi/media/Screenshot_20170307-194359-2_zpsf7ajfufz.png.html)

[](http://s44.photobucket.com/user/anirtakshenwoi/media/Screenshot_20170307-170949-2_zpsaizxkxbh.png.html)

[](http://s44.photobucket.com/user/anirtakshenwoi/media/Screenshot_20170307-170938-2_zpsm3g76rri.png.html)

He'd been warned that Rodham wasn't to be disturbed before 9:00am, and he'd never been more glued to a clock in his life. He filled the hours by sharpening pencils and listening to _Diamonds and Pearls_ on his Prince cassette. He wasn't sure if the Walkman was allowed, but since he was a plain clothes officer, he planned to say it was a part of the act. At 8:45, Hillary opened her door to retrieve her trashcan, and they locked eyes. She slammed the door shut without saying a word, and he smiled. He couldn't help but notice that the front of her hair was pulled back. He liked that look, making a mental note not to mention it for fear she wouldn’t wear it that way again.

"Good morning," he said, standing in her doorway while tapping his watch. "Nine on the dot. I'm following the rules."

She nodded, straightening her papers. "Good morning."

He sat down, scanning the room to find anything that would explain her personal life. There was nothing. "Have a good night's sleep?"

She ignored him. "I got the photos developed," she said, handing him the packet. "If you look closely at this one, you can see that her heel entered the ground from an awkward angle. There was clearly a struggle."

He flipped through the photos, intrigued. "Salvatore Ferragamo oxfords," he said, looking at the sole in the photo. "Maybe we can swing by the mall and find out who may have bought them."

“I don’t think that will be necessary.”

“They don’t come cheap. Not just any man can afford those shoes, especially in the Bush economy.”

“And what would we say to the clerk, Clinton? Who’s the serial killer that buys his shoes from you?”

He looked away. “You’re being ridiculous, Hillary.”

She gritted her teeth. “It’s Rodham.”

“I’m your partner, and you’re mine. It’s Hillary.” He leaned back in the chair.  
She snatched the photos out of his hand and walked back to her file cabinet.  
“What’s your problem?” he asked, trying to get a rise out of her by seeming miffed. He figured she’d slip up if she got angry enough.

“My problem? You just think you can walk in here, and we’d have an instant rapport? That’s not the way things work around here, Clinton.”

“Well how do things work around here?! I tried to be kind, but not matter what, you keep fighting against me. Tell me, how the hell do things work around here, Hillary?”

“It’s Rodham!” she screamed, shoving the papers off her desk. 

Keeping up the act, he clinched his fists, looking away. Maybe he pushed her too far?

She noticed his clinched fists, and wanted to give him an out. “If you’d rather have another partner, that is more than fine with me,” she said, voice cracking. “I’d do better on my own. I don’t need you.”

With that, he knew he had her. He took a deep breath before standing and walking towards her. Her heart raced as she tried to put up a false front of absolute power. “I’m not going anywhere, Hillary,” he whispered as his hands rested on her upper arms. She closed her eyes as he came closer, trying her best not to be hypnotized by his southern lilt. “And no matter how much you refuse to believe it, you do need me.” 

She swallowed in effort to hide her feelings. He noticed, and she looked away from him, not ready to go back down that road again. Over the years, she’d thrown herself into her work, becoming a nationally known homicide detective among law enforcement circles. But deep inside, she knew that no matter how many cases she solved, the void in her heart yearned to be filled. Not one to be vulnerable, she pushed that feeling away. And in that moment, she pushed Bill, too. 

His back hit the wall from her shove, and he watched her pick up the papers, desperate to know more about her. She fought back tears as she continued, knowing that he was staring at her all the while. She cleared her throat, her eyes wide with vulnerability. 

“I’ve set up a membership consultation with the Ridgemoor Country Club. I figure a wealthy killer would have a membership there.” She placed the papers on her desk, still refusing to look at him. 

“We can be a married couple,” he suggested as his eyes desperately tried to connect with hers. “It’ll make more sense that way.”

She nodded.  
<><><><><>

The weather was dreary as they drove along the slick, city streets. It had stopped raining, but the city was blanketed with fog. Although Bill wanted to talk, they rode along in silence. 

“Where did you find the golf clubs?” she asked.

“They're mine.”

She didn’t believe him.

“I've been playing since high school. It helps me calm my mind." He stared out the window. Besides deciding to remain quiet, he also decided not to look at her. The more he did, the more attracted he became. In turn, she looked at him more than usual, hating herself for it but unable to look away from someone so handsome. She quickly glanced at him before the turn, finding his jawline deliciously sexy. 

"There they are," she said, pulling into an abandoned parking lot.

"This isn't the Ridgemoor, is it?"

"No," she said, turning off the engine. "It's the boys from Springfield. They help out during special cases." She opened the door, grabbing her briefcase as she did. "Earl. Perry."

"Hillary," they said, coming up to her. 

"This is Bill Clinton," she mustered, not wanting to ever say his first name. "Clinton, Earl and Perry do field work for the Justice Department."

"Nice to meet you, fellas," Bill said, shaking their hands.

"So what's the plan here?" Earl asked. 

Hillary popped the trunk to her car. "Golf. We're going to join that country club over there," she said pointing down the road. Bill took a few steps to see the property closer, his stern face dripping with sex appeal. "We have it on good authority that the killer is wealthy."

"Shit, if that's the case he'd certainly be a member," Perry said. "Let's see your equipment."

Bill pulled the heavy carrier out of the trunk as two additional men walked up to them. "Franklin. Dover," Hillary greeted the them. They nodded at her.

"How many nine-irons to do you have?" Perry asked Bill, feeling the desire to play golf himself. 

"I always carry a minimum of five," Bill said, eager to show the man his set.  
"Got the covers, too," Earl interjected, equally intrigued.

As Bill bragged about his golf skills, Hillary looked afar off, while paying close attention. He was so personable with people, and she knew for a fact that Earl and Perry were no-nonsense guys. A small smile grew across her face as she listened, and she was glad Bill couldn't see it.

"Radio us for backup," Franklin said, handing Hillary two Walkie-Talkies.   
All four men drove off, leaving Bill and Hillary standing alone. 

"Nice guys," Bill said looking down at her as she continued staring afar off. "You seemed friendly, too."

She became heated. "I'm always friendly to people who do their jobs."

"Excuse me," he said, face turning red as he rested his hand on his chest, "Perhaps you'd extend the courtesy to me if you ever give me a chance."

"You've been in this department for two minutes!" she said, holding up two fingers, "And you think you deserve all the perks that everyone else...!"

"It's not perks, Rodham! I don't know what it is you have against me, but I'm sick of it! Get off your fuckin' high horse, and be a team player!" He figured he'd try a different approach. He wasn't angry at her, but he wanted to break her down.

Her heart raced because of his tone, and while she was furious, she liked how he took control. "Talk to me like that again, and you're done, Clinton.” Her voice was calm.

"Done?" he whispered, moving closer to her. "I think you underestimate me, Hillary." His drawl sounded sexier with each syllable. "Believe it or not, but it's only a matter of time before your legs will be wrapped around me while you're moaning my name. And you surely won't be calling me 'Clinton' when that happens." 

Hillary squeezed her thighs together. His threat immediately made her wet. "It'll never happen," she said, her voice small. They stood closer, and he gently ran his fingers up her back.

"It will," he whispered, pulling her closer.

She closed her eyes, shaking her head. "Never."

He licked his lips as his hand rested at the nape of her neck. They kissed as her fingers twisted around a curl of his hair. Time stood still as they stood in that parking lot, a rainy mist falling as she rested in his warm embrace. His heart nearly beat out of his chest because she tasted so good. If it weren't for the drizzle or the public place, he knew he'd fulfill his promise to fuck her senseless right then. Her hands moved from his neck to his cheeks, prolonging their connection. In turn, his hands moved from her neck to her back, holding her close as she let go of control. 

Snapping back to reality, she roughly pulled away. They stared at each other, eyes connecting, completely silent. Her nose flared as tears welled in her eyes. "I shouldn't have done that," she whispered, overcome with shame. 

It pained him to see her that way. "No, it was my fault. I shouldn't have..."

"You're a rookie," she said, straightening her clothes and becoming stone-faced again. "When we get back to the station, I'll put in a request for you to get a new partner."

"Hillary..."

"This can't happen again," she interrupted, her voice weak.

"It won't happen again," he said, trying to find the words to explain. "Unless you want it to."

She grabbed her briefcase. "I don't.” 

They got in the car, and she refused to look at him. She pulled out of the parking lot while biting her lip. 

"Hillary..." he said, reaching for her hand. She moved it, gripping the wheel tighter to fight her urge to hold his.

<><><><><>

"Alice and Theodore Sturgeon," she said once they pulled up to the grounds. The heat between them was still fresh, but they both put on an act in front of the security guard. After checking his list, he waved them in. While they both knew they'd crossed the line, they tried to focus on finding the serial killer and bringing him to justice.


	4. Natural Place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No songs in this one.

"No," Dudley said flatly. He'd already prepared for Hillary to ask for a new partner, and he wasn't surprised at how quickly it happened.

"I can't work with him," she said. 

"Why? How is he adversely affecting your work?"

She couldn't just say she wanted to fuck him in the precinct's front hallway.

"It's been three days, and you're already in my office trying to get rid of him. Give him a chance. You'll adjust. Unless there's something else you need to tell me?"

She shook her head as she left his office, slamming the door on her way out. While storming back to her own, she saw Bill walking to his desk with his headphones on. He looked so silly, she thought, pretending to bang drums as he bopped his head. He was wearing a leather jacket and a pair of jeans that were fitted perfectly to his muscular ass. She was instantly aroused. He turned around once he heard her door slam shut, upset that he didn't get to see her before 9:00am.

<><><><><>

He knocked at 9:20, afraid that he was being reassigned. 

"Come in," she said, and he did, failing to say good morning or even hello. He closed the door and sat across from her, waiting to hear the news. "What?" she asked, eyes wide and tender. His silence confused her.

"Are we still partners, Hillary?"

She looked away from him as his eyes burned into her own. She nodded.

"It won't happen again," he said, trying to convince her that his quest was over. And he was serious. He'd decided the previous night to let her go. Whatever interest they had in each other would only compromise their work, allowing more people die at the hands of the serial killer. He chose to set aside his selfish needs for the betterment of the investigation. He was honest with his declaration. It wasn't going to happen again, and he wanted her to know that.

"I want it to," she whispered, looking into his eyes. She surprised herself.

"Seriously?"

She nodded.

"But you said that we..."

"I know what I said, Clinton.” She closed her eyes. “Bill," she swallowed. "But I would be lying to myself if I denied having feelings for you."

He was elated, even though he purposely suppressed his smile. 

"I love my work, and it's still my priority, but you make me feel things I haven't felt in a very long time. And I'll understand if this is just a game to you, but to me, it's..."

"It's not a game to me," he declared, his heart nearly beating out of his chest. "I know this is happening fast, but there's something about you. You do something to my soul."

She swallowed, nearly overcome with emotion. He stood, never moving his eyes from hers.

"There's just something about you, Hillary Rodham," his drawl sounded like silk as he walked towards her. "Something that makes my heart feel like it could just burst inside me." 

He stopped in front of her. She stood, and he held her close as she rested her head on his chest. She pulled back to look up at him, and they kissed with a level of passion that could have only been birthed in a world long ago. His hands moved up her back, lifting her blouse before resting under the hook of her bra. He loosened it as the kiss continued, making her breasts fall to their natural place. Her hands rested at his waist, searching for his buckle while their lips stayed connected. She pulled his belt from his pant loops, letting it hit the floor. Moving faster, she started working on his fly.  
He lifted her onto her desk, shoving the papers aside. She removed his shirt, completely aroused by how messy his hair became once she did. He removed her pants, nearly breathless as he saw how soaked her panties were.

"Fuck," he moaned, wanting to ravish her. He hardened at the sight of her, and Hillary gently touched his covered member, desperately wanting him inside her. She gripped the elastic of his underwear and pulled it down. Once free, his manhood sprang forward, greeting her like a flag. Her mouth watered.

"Fuck me," she pled, and he was determined to follow her instructions. His strong hands pulled her panties down her thighs, slipping them from her feet and bringing them to his nose. He took in her scent, hypnotized by her sweet nectar. 

KNOCK, KNOCK

They looked at each other in a panic. Hillary didn't answer, thinking that whoever it was would go away if they remained still. The uninvited guest knocked again—harder this time, and they scrambled to get dressed. Moving fast, Bill purposely thought of his grandmother to calm his erection. Hillary tried to rehook her bra, but struggled with the task. "Bill?" He quickly fastened it, straightening the bottom of her blouse as she bent to pull up her pants. He put his shirt on quickly, looping his belt so fast that he skipped three. Once Hillary lifted her pants, she realized that she wasn't wearing her panties. Happy to still have them in his possession, Bill quickly stuffed them into his back pocket before grabbing the papers off the floor. Hillary wiped her face, composing. "Come in!"

Zack opened the door and saw Bill and Hillary sitting as though they were having an important meeting. "Sorry to interrupt, Hill. I just wanted to say goodbye before I headed to Des Moines."

She took a deep breath and walked towards him. "Good luck on the new assignment," she said while hugging him. All the while, she hoped he didn't feel the sweat flushing through her blouse.

They let go, and Zack walked over to Bill, extending his hand. "Foster," Zack said. Bill looked over at Hillary before looking back at Zack. "Clinton.” They shook hands.

"She's a tough one," Zack said.

"I've learned."

"So you know about the morning rule?" 

Bill nodded, unable to get the thought of Hillary's body out of his mind. "It's now a pivotal part of my morning routine," he drawled, making Hillary cross her legs at her ankles as she stood. "But I don't mind it," Bill continued, locking eyes with her.

"It helped me catch up on some important paperwork," Zach said, oblivious to the sexual tension between the two. "I've never had a better partner." He turned around to look at Hillary. She smiled at him, heart nearly beating out of her chest because Bill wouldn't cut his gaze from her. "Have a good day, Hill. And let me know how the case is going from time to time," Zack said, hugging her again.

"I will." 

He smiled at her, and she did the same before shutting the door. When she did, she took a deep breath, resting her hand on her flushed chest. It was hard trying to compose in the presence of the man who was the cause of her trouble. 

They lingered for a while, neither knowing what to do. Both expected the other to make the decision, and when neither of them did, it was Fate's turn. There was another knock at the door, and Hillary opened it. Dudley quickly hobbled in and sat in the empty chair with a stern look on his face.

"We're going to fix this now," he said firmly. "I made you partners because you have different strengths. This is my precinct, and that means my rules are final. Understand?"

Hillary nodded as did Bill. They both wanted to laugh, knowing that they were painfully close to fucking each other right in front of him.

Dudley struggled to hoist his large frame from the chair. "I don't want to hear another word about it," he said out of breath, smoothing the wrinkles out of his shirt. "Hear?" 

Hillary nodded again as he hobbled out of the room. She shut the door and walked back to her chair as Bill followed her with his eyes.

"You tried to get rid of me?" he asked, eyebrow cocked with a smirk on his face.

"I told you I would."

"That's true," he drawled, leaning forward. He took her panties out of his pocket and raised them to her sight line. "While I'd love to keep these, would you like them back?"

She blushed, reaching for them. He stared at her as she unzipped her pants. His tongue gently swept across his bottom lip. "Can I have some privacy?" she asked, suddenly feeling vulnerable. If she were honest, she knew he'd positively make sure they'd finish what they started if he watched.

He nodded, turning around. "I wait to see that later," he whispered as they both smiled coyly.


	5. Rich, Bald Asshole

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song link to "Something to Talk About" by Bonnie Raitt: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mJ58TVYNFro

He'd changed into a polo shirt and khakis before they headed out that afternoon. He didn't want to, but he left his Walkman on his desk, determined to listen to Bonnie Raitt's _Lucky of the Draw_ cassette that he bought the night before. He whistled the tune from Something to Talk About as they headed to the parking lot. She started the car as Bill put on his seat belt.

"Theodore," she said pointing to him.

"I know."

"Well, you called yourself 'Thomas' during the tour yesterday."

"They'd given us mimosas. I'm sure they didn't notice."

She checked her mirrors before turning. As usual, they sat in silence, but when he reached for her hand this time, she let him hold it.

"Dudley almost had a stroke when he handed the check to me," she said, voice lighter as she spoke.

"Twenty-five thousand dollars," Bill said shaking his head. "And that's just for a provisional membership."

"Yep," she said breathlessly, dragging out the word. 

"I'll be looking for the oxfords," he said.

"Maybe he fences still?"

"They certainly have the piste. Maybe I'll check it out to see if I come across him."

She nodded.

<><><><><>

As they entered the banquet hall, they immediately noticed the split among the sexes. The men stood at the bar, drinking hard liquor while wearing multi-colored polo shirts. Each of them had a family crest engraved on their left breast pocket, instantly explaining their family wealth. The women lounged on the opposite side of the room, sitting daintily, while drinking fine teas and mimosas. Hillary noticed that each of them wore broaches and large wedding rings. She rubbed her finger while staring at them.

"How ah zou two?" Ivy Donaldson-Chase asked, walking towards them tipsy. She'd given them a portion of the tour the previous day. 

"We're well," Hillary said matter-of-factly, lacking the false charm that the room required. 

Noticing, Bill stepped forward, grabbing Ivy's hand and bringing it to his lips. "Very fine, my darling," he said kissing it gently. Ivy blushed, nearly spilling her mimosa as she stepped back from him. 

"Well, aren't zou a charmer, Mr. Sturgeon?" Her lipstick was smeared, making Bill wonder how many drinks she had before she happened upon them.  
"Alice and I figured we'd drop off our fee before heading down to the races."  
Hillary looked up at him.

"Let me get Mr. Beauregard, and he will zake ze check from zou," she said accent heavy while spilling a bit of her drink. "In ze meantime," she said, grabbing Hillary's hand, "zou can join us ladies by ze fireplace while ze men talk about ztocks and bonds." She leaned into Hillary's ear, whispering loudly, "We don't want to interrupt zem when zhey're at ze bar. Zhey get so upset if we show our pretty little heads." 

Ivy made Hillary sick to her stomach, but she smiled and nodded, determined to gather as many clues as she could. 

Bill took a seat at the bar, purposely closing his sports coat so they wouldn't see he lacked a family crest.

"...and I said to her, show me your pussy, and then I'll give you my credit card." His name was Tristan Case, Ivy's husband and an asshole extraordinaire. His hair was obviously a badly constructed toupee, and besides baldness, Bill wondered what else he was compensating for.

"Did you see her pussy?" one of the men asked, bursting with laughter. 

Tristan smiled coyly, buttoning his sports jacket while leaning back as they egged him on. "Showed? I moved on her like a bitch. You have enough money, they let you do anything." 

The men laughed profusely as Bill sipped on his drink, offended by their talk. Tristan noticed he didn't join in and focused on him. He firmly hit Bill on the back. "How about you, buddy? Grab any pussy lately?"

Bill took another sip, trying to hold back his angst. "If you're grabbing it, you're doing it wrong," he drawled, making the men hoot at his sharp reply. 

Tristan looked uncomfortable after Bill's retort, determined to one-up the man. "That's what a man would say when he doesn't get pussy on the regular. Never seen you around the club. Married?"

Bill nodded, suddenly realizing that he wasn't wearing a ring.

Tristan leaned in close to him. "Wife let you touch her pussy?" he whispered, keeping the surrounding men smiling in anticipation. "Or does she make you please her first?"

Bill placed his drink down, feeling his anger rise. "My wife is more than satisfied." Bill nodded over at Hillary as she sat next to the fireplace. "I don't get any complaints." The men burst into affirmative shouts again, raising the stakes for Tristan. 

"Well," the young asshole said, "My wife is a model from Czechoslovakia. Her legs are so long she can pleasure my dick with her feet while she's sucking it." Tristan leaned in closer to Bill. "From what I see, your wife'd rather lick a pussy than please you."

Bill swiped the drink off the bar, smashing the glass as he grabbed Tristan by the throat. He knew he was supposed to play a smug, rich guy, but Tristan brought out the country boy in him. Plus, he was determined to defend Hillary. "I'd watch my fucking mouth if I were you," he growled close to the man's face. 

The other men pulled Bill off, and once they did, he straightened his shirt, sitting back in his seat. He nodded an apology to the bartender as Tristan straightened his clothes, beet red from shame. The smug man walked off, and as he did, Bill noticed that he was wearing Salvatore Ferragamo oxfords. His heart quickened, and he tried to lock eyes with Hillary.

<><><><><>

"Where's zur ring?" Ivy asked, legs crossed. Hillary licked her lips, not having thought through this contingency. 

"It's at the jewelers," she said. "Theodore is adding two new stones to commemorate our anniversary."

"Aww...," Ivy said, resting her hand to her chest. "Zat is zo sweet.” 

Hillary looked up and saw Bill staring at her with wide eyes, and she tried to figure out how to get to him. "Is there a restroom somewhere nearby?" she asked, hoping that Bill would follow her.

"Ches," the woman said. "It's down zat hallway on ze left."

Hillary nodded and walked that way, glancing at Bill so he would follow her. He placed his new drink on the counter, nodding to the men before he went in her direction. She saw a small cut-in and stood there. Once he walked by, she grabbed him.

"What is it?" she whispered, eyes wide.

"It's him, Hillary. It's fucking him. He had the Salvatore Ferragamo oxfords and everything."

"Who?" 

"Tristan Chase. He's Ivy's husband."

She closed her eyes then opened them wide. "What makes you think it was him?"

"The shoes, Hillary. And his smug ass attitude."

"That's not enough, Bill. Everyone in this place has a smug attitude. We need something more. Does he fence?"

"I don't know," Bill said. 

"Well, find out," she said, pausing to take in how good Bill looked as his hand rested against the wall. 

He noticed her arousal. "I will," he said low, locking eyes with her as he did. "Maybe," he whispered, walking towards her, "I can challenge him to a match." His hands rested at her lower back, making her heart race.

"Mmmhmm..." she said, trying to keep her composure.

"He has something to prove to me," Bill said, moving his hands up higher. "He won't say no." His voice sent electricity straight to her center.

"Sounds like a plan," she whispered, rubbing the crown of her head against his chin, trying not to touch him in the way she wanted to.

He let her go, and they headed back to the room determined to find out more.


	6. Is This Love?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song link to "Is This Love?" by Whitesnake: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ujnH4yNqL8E
> 
> This is my favorite chapter. So good.

She closed her briefcase and grabbed her coat from the hook. When she opened her door, she saw Bill sitting at his desk with his headphones on, still engrossed in his work. She stared at him as she stood there, her long leather trench coat looking large on her small frame. He felt her staring, and he looked up. He took off his headphones, never breaking his gaze.

"Headed home?"

She nodded, holding her briefcase in front of her. He backed out from his desk, and walked towards her. They were alone, and while they could, they knew that they shouldn’t.

“I’m about to head out myself,” he said, playing with her fingers. 

“Oh?”

He nodded, licking his lips. He was nervous, but he had to ask. “Would you like to stay at my place tonight?”

She looked away, still holding his fingers. 

“I’ll cook you dinner,” he said, hoping it would sway her decision.

She smiled nervously. “Bill...”

He leaned in and kissed her, nearly taking her breath away. “I’d love to have you.”

She nodded, and they interlocked their fingers as they walked to the parking lot.

<><><><><>

She was amazed at the amount of music he had shelved on the walls. There were hundreds of vinyl records, cassette tapes, and 8-tracks. Aside from a picture of his mother on the end table, his music collection served as the entire decoration.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he said, walking into his kitchenette and taking out a large pot. She lingered near the door staring at the collection. “I promise they won’t bite.”

“No, it’s just,” she took a deep breath. “I haven’t been at a man’s place in a long time.”  
He put water in the pot. “How long?”

“Oh,” she said, talking off her coat. “A long time.”

He struck a match, lighting the stove’s gas eye. “I haven’t had a woman at my place in a long time, either.”

“I doubt that.”

“It’s true,” he said, taking out a pack of spaghetti. “I haven’t been with anyone for more than five years.”

“Why not?” Her voice was small, exhibiting her insecurity.

He shrugged. “Never met the right person. I’ve had women come on to me, but…” He licked his lips and headed to the refrigerator to look for tomatoes. 

“But what?”

He looked at her. “But no one has ever made me feel that flutter deep inside,” he drawled pouring salt in the water, “Not until you.” He broke the dry spaghetti noodles in half, looking away, embarrassed. 

She walked towards him, wrapping her arms around him from behind. He closed his eyes, amazed that this beautiful woman was in his kitchen. “You make me feel the same thing,” she whispered. 

He turned around, lifting her hands into his own as his lips descended on hers. Although certain they wouldn’t be interrupted, he still wanted to take his time.

“What music do you like to listen to?” he asked, pulling away to calm his erection.

“A little bit of everything.”

“Rock?”

“Sometimes.”

He reached to his collection and pulled out his _Whitesnake_ album, carefully placing the needle on track six. As _Is This Love_ played, they stared at each other, both desperately fighting their desire to descend into the depths of carnal pleasure. They slowly inched closer. Bill unbuckled his belt, snapping it out of his pants and throwing it to the couch. Hillary languidly unbuttoned her blouse, arms weak while staring at his strong body. He took off his shirt, throwing it to the table. Although close, they still didn’t meet. She unclipped her hair, golden locks falling as he wrapped his arm around her. 

Not willing to part again, he lifted her bra over her head, getting his first glimpse of her breasts. “Fuck,” he moaned, loving how creamy and delicious they looked—pink nipples erect and ready to be sucked. She unzipped his pants, reaching for his hardened member as it struggled for room in his briefs.

“Take them off,” she moaned. 

He picked her up and carried her to his bedroom. They had all the time in the world, and he didn’t want things to go too quickly. He was determined to make love to her.   
“Not yet," he said, laying her on the mattress as he got on his knees. He gently pulled down her panties again, but this time, he took a moment to worship how beautiful she looked. He loved the curly little hairs that had recently grown back from her last shave. Remembering their presence, she was embarrassed.

“Bill…”

“Don’t,” he said, grazing them with his fingers, pupils wide with absolute amazement. “They’re fucking beautiful.” He tenderly kissed her lips, moving his tongue along the outside of her mound. She let out a pleased sigh as he pulled her to the edge, placing her knees over his shoulders. "I want to enjoy you," he said, lowering his head to her heat as he opened her lips with his long fingers. He licked her one, long time, making her toes curl from the very act. "You are absolutely delicious," he drawled, descending once again. Her hands gripped his messy hair, pulling him closer to her center, and as her fingers weaved through his thick mane, he licked her like the world itself would explode without his act. 

"I'm gonna come," she moaned, writhing, and he pulled away, licking his lips as he did so. 

He was throbbing. “Not yet,” he said again, stepping out of his underwear before grabbing his member. Hillary was nearly breathless as she looked at it, wanting to taste it. She crawled to him, wrapping her hand at his base while gently kissing his head. His breath hitched from the contact as his hand rested on the back of her scalp. She moved her lips on him slowly, dancing her tongue around him in circles as she descended. Pulling her lips back to his head, she released him with a “pop,” making his ass twitch from the sound. She descended on him once again, licking the underside in one, long stroke. Moaning from pleasure, he stopped her before she continued.

“What?” she asked, looking up at him with large, blue eyes. 

He shook his head, nearly teary-eyed before he spoke. “I want to come inside of you.” His tone denoted absolute desperation. He knew that to anyone willing to listen, their seemingly instantaneous love affair would be the subject of scorn. But to him, and to her, they knew, without a shadow of doubt, that when they connected, they would be joining to the soul they made a pact with long before they ever entered this world. She was his other half—his wandering heart—his soulmate. And to her, he was the same—the fire to her ice, melting her well-constructed walls while she cooled his burning flame.

She moved back up the bed, opening her thighs as he positioned himself over her. He grabbed his cock again, placing it at her entrance, kissing her as he slowly entered her heat. Once he did, he squeezed his eyes shut, enraptured by how incredibly tight she felt. He stayed still for a moment so she could adjust to his size. 

"Tell me when," he said, determined not to hurt her. She moaned as her muscles involuntarily squeezed him. Unable to speak, he sucked in a quick breath, nearly coming from her movement alone. She gyrated her hips, and in return, he circled inside of her, causing her to yelp from the pleasure, her heart racing as though she were being chased.

They never ate dinner that night, and the water in the large pot fizzled away. He held her to his chest while she slept, completely content to have her in his arms.


	7. I Love You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song link to "Touch Me Tonight" by Shooting Star: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q0FoqFqzdvY

Listening to _Touch Me Tonight_ from his Shooting Star cassette, Bill walked into the precinct filled with determination. He was excited to show Dudley what they’d found during their visits to the country club over the last three weeks. Not only had Bill built a rapport with Tristan Chase, but the man had invited him to his penthouse in the heart of the city. Although Bill and Hillary had become intensely close, he still abided by her 9:00am rule. He decided to visit Dudley before he saw her that day.

<><><><><>

Slapping the folder onto Dudley’s desk, Bill looked down at him with a smile. The man’s chunky fingers flipped through the pages, nodding as he did.

“This is good, Clinton, but unless you have undeniable evidence, we can’t bring him in.”

“He’s the guy,” Bill said, stunned. “My gut’s gotten me this far, and I’m certain of it. I’d bet my life on it.”

“We don’t work on ‘guts’ or ‘bets’ in this precinct, Clinton. We need evidence.”

Bill licked his lips, thinking. “How about blood? We have a sample from the crime scene, and if his matches, it would be more than enough evidence.”

“A blood sample? And how do you suggest getting one?”

Bill thought about kicking Tristan’s ass one good time, knowing that the locker room at the Ridgemoor lacked security. “I have my ways.”

Dudley wiped the crumbs from his chest shaking his head in disapproval, “Now, Clinton…”

There was a small knock on the door, and Hillary walked in slowly, fully awakened and in good spirits. She locked eyes with Bill, and they both suppressed their smiles before Dudley noticed them. 

“What do you think, Dudley?” she asked, having already discussed everything with Bill.

“I think you’re both jumping the gun.”

Hillary shook her head, amazed and angered. “He’s the only person in town who’s bought Salvatore Ferragamo oxfords in three years. The clerk at the…!”

“I don’t care what the clerk said, Hillary! Who’s to say he didn’t buy the shoes outside of Chicago?” Exasperated, Dudley placed the papers back into the folder and handed it to Bill. “Until you have something more substantial, this case isn’t over. Tristan Chase owns every hotel in the Chicago area. They call him ‘The Tristan.’ We can’t have any doubt that he’s the guy we’re looking for. Find out more, and then we’ll talk. No arrests.” Both Bill and Hillary rolled their eyes. “Hear me?”

Bill nodded, clinching his jaw. Dudley left the room, and once he did, Bill and Hillary immediately interlocked their fingers.

Bill took a deep breath. “I’ll have to fight him, Hillary.”

“Dudley?”

“No,” he said, leaning against the wall while resting his hand on her hip. “Chase. We need a blood sample.”

She looked away as he brought her hand to his lips. “Bill…”

“That’s the only way to get it,” he said, wanting to punch Tristan’s smug face in. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said, caressing his jawline. “Plus, I’m sure our membership will be revoked if you do. It’s only a provisional, and I’m having a hard time fitting in as it is. I don’t fit their standards.”

“Fuck them,” he said angrily. He hated hearing her disparage herself. “You’re better than everyone in that place. If they can’t see that, then it’s their loss.”

She leaned into his chest, taking in his scent. He kissed her forehead.

“It’s 7:30,” he whispered, staring at the wall clock. “What happened to the 9:00am rule?”  
She smiled into his chest. 

“Hillary…” he crooned, swaying her from side to side as she cuddled close. 

“I’ve seemed to have found an exception to that rule.” She pulled back to look at him.

“Does that exception have a southern accent and great taste in music?”

“MmmHmm…” she said, looking away.

“Well, I’m pleased,” he drawled, kissing her crown. “I’ve made some changes myself.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve switched from Crest to Aquafresh because of you.” She laughed, totally tickled by his humor. “I’ve also started showering twice a day.”

“Why is that?” she asked, intrigued.

“Well, after making love to a woman,” he whispered, grinning, “a man needs to wash off before he ends up pissing all over the walls the next morning. Semen is sticky, baby.”

<><><><><>

They walked into the country club that afternoon as Alice and Theodore Sturgeon. Bill lifted his golf carrier out of the trunk, and as soon as the wheels hit the ground, a caddie retrieved it for him. 

“Today’s not a golf day,” Tristan said from behind, hair blowing so hard in the wind that it looked like it would fly off. “Today, we fence.”

Bill looked to Hillary and then back to Tristan. “Game on.”

<><><><><>

Hillary stood in the locker room self-consciously staring at herself in the mirror. Although she loved swimming, she worried that her curvaceous body would stand out among the rail-thin housewives that frequented the pool. Her fears were remedied once she thought about what Bill would think—how he’d gallantly lift her from the pool and fuck her right next to the wet bar. She smiled at the thought.

“Ah zou ready?” Ivy asked, still in the private stall.

“I am,” Hillary said.

Ivy walked out in a bikini that barely covered her nipples. “Me zoo,” she said, putting on a fresh coat of lipstick while holding her hand mirror. “Zou are dressed for swimming, no doubt.”

“That’s what I plan to do,” Hillary said, confused.

Ivy shook her head in pity, “No, no, no, Alice. Ze pool is not for swimming. It is for lounging. Ze ladies don’t swim in zis club, my darling. Zhey only lounge.”

“Yes,” Hillary nodded, dragging out the word. “At our previous club, that was also the case.”

“Somezimes, it’s easy zo forget, eh? Especially when surrounded by poor zrash like ze people of zis zown. I want zo move back to New York.”

“Oh?” Hillary asked, wanting her to continue.

“My husband does better in New York. His anger is less and he buys me more zhings. Chicago brings out ze worst in him, and his knife collection is growing so big, I don’t have room enough for my zhoes.”

“Knife collection?”

“Japanese knives,” Ivy said sighing. “I don’t get ze appeal.”

<><><><><>

While Bill had studied the rules of the game, he’d never played, and Tristan had bested him for the third time in a row.

“You’re making this too fucking easy, you piece of shit!” Tristan was elated. 

The more he bragged, the more determined Bill was to get blood from him. “One more game,” Bill said, taking off his mask. “One more, then we play golf.”

“No,” Tristan said, taking off his mask. “No golf today. I want to continue to destroy you right here.”

Normally, he wasn’t easily angered, but Tristan’s cockiness was testing his patience. He put the mask back on and stood at his place on the piste. When they charged toward each other, Tristan bested him again, bragging through his mask. The men that watched the game were also talking shit.

“He’s a fucking loser!” Tristan screamed. “Probably went to some public school by the river of Mississippi. Didn’t you, Theodore,” he said with a mock southern accent. 

Bill was fuming, but he stayed contained.

“But what can you expect from someone who grew up a poor mother fucker? I’m surprised he has all his teeth. I’m sure his mother doesn’t!”

Bill punched Tristan square in the face, making the man fall to the ground. Straddling him, Bill kept punching and punching, even as the men attempted to pull him off. “You rich, cocksucking fuck! I’ll kill you!” He had grown up poor, and Tristan represented everything Bill stood against. The wealthy asshole was bleeding profusely, painting Bill’s white gloves crimson. Security rushed the room and pulled Bill off, as medical attendants aided Tristan. Bill wiped the sweat from his lip with his other hand, staring down at the man as the guard held him back. “Talk that shit again, and you’ll regret it!” Bill yelled as they carried Tristan out on a stretcher.

<><><><><>

They were silent as they drove back to the precinct. Hillary kept her eyes on the road as Bill stared out the window. He worried that she was upset, and she worried that he would flip if provoked.

“It had to be done, Hillary.”

She nodded.

He was worried about her lack of response. “Are you mad at me?”

She turned the corner, checking her mirrors as she did. “I’m just worried, is all.” 

“Why?” he asked softly.

“It just scares me,” she whispered, voice cracking.

They stopped at a red light. “Could you pull over, baby? Please,” Bill said, needing to talk this out immediately. When she did, she unbuckled her seatbelt and closed her eyes. “I scared you?”

She nodded, fighting back tears, and he held her hand, rubbing his thumb across her palm. “My father would…” her voice trailed off as he pulled her closer to him. He tried to connect with her eyes, but she averted them. “He’d get so angry, and one day, he just…,” she said as he wrapped his arms around her. 

He held her as she cried into his chest, rubbing her hair with his fingers. “I didn’t know,” he said, tearing up, too. “The last thing I’d ever do is hurt you, Hillary. I love you.”

Embarrassed about being so emotional, she looked up at him once she heard those words. They were music to her ears and breath to her soul. As the cars sped by on the busy street, they stayed connected, time no longer having any meaning.


	8. From the Mountaintops

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No songs in this one.

Although Dudley was furious about the fight, he was pleased when the blood on Bill’s fencing glove matched what was collected at the crime scene. Hillary had been in constant touch with Lisa Creek’s parents, and with Dudley’s approval, she was thrilled to let them know that justice would be served. She hung up the phone satisfied as Bill stood in her doorway.

“Clinton,” she said, smiling.

“Rodham,” he retorted, licking his lips. He sat in her guest chair. “Todays’ the big day.”

“I’ve already called Earl and Perry. They think it would be best to escort him to the station in a luxury cruiser.”

Bill rolled his eyes.

“Whatever gets the job done,” she said as she stood to straighten her desk. 

He stared at her, his eyes moving from her hips up to her breasts. She looked up at him, smirking. He stood, walking around her desk, and her smile grew wider.

“Bill,” she whispered, noticing the door was cracked. He pulled her close, resting his hands on her ass. She looked back to the door again, “Someone may walk in on us.”

“So?” he drawled, moving his hands to her lower back. 

She looked back to the door again, feeling her adrenalin rush as he carefully unbuttoned her blouse. “Bill, seriously,” she giggled as his hands cupped her covered breasts. 

“When are we gonna tell them?” he whispered, kissing her neck. Her eyes still gravitated toward the door, but she was too engrossed in his touch to make a move. 

“What would we say?”

“That we’re together,” he said, blue eyes making her heart beat faster. “I want to tell the whole world I’ve found the love of my life.”

“Dudley would surely split us up,” she said breathlessly as he nibbled her ear. “You know I don’t do well with new partners.” He slowly unhooked her bra, watching as her creamy breasts rested at their rightful place. “You may even be sent to a new precinct.”

He looked into her eyes, completely mesmerized that she was in his arms. “As long as you’re still my girl, I’d gladly take the reassignment.” She stood on her tip-toes, and they kissed deeply as Dudley watched them from the doorway. He knew they had been dating for weeks, but he wanted them to finish the case together. Plus, he was a sucker for young love.

“Ahem,” he said, startling Hillary as she instantly crossed her arms over her chest. Bill stood in front of her to give her privacy. “I’ll give you two a moment to make yourselves decent. We’ll discuss this in my office in five minutes,” he said, shutting her door.

<><><><><>

They sat next to each other holding hands. He’d already seen them making out, so there was no point in hiding any longer. A small smile rested on Hillary’s face, while Bill’s was much more vibrant. He’d never been one to hide his emotions.

“As you know, we have rules in this precinct. One of those rules regards colleague fraternization of a sexual nature.”

Bill and Hillary looked at each other smirking. He squeezed her hand, and she squeezed her eyes closed, giddy. 

“In Article 3.8, it states that colleagues—in your case, the two of you—are not allowed to engage in romantic relationships while employed at the same precinct. It couldn’t be more clear.”

They both nodded, still smiling in Dudley’s direction. Hillary looked over at Bill, and he looked back at her. This was the second time they nearly fucked each other in front of Dudley.

“You’ve completed the serial killer case, and I couldn’t be more proud of the both of you. But the rule is the rule, and if we didn’t have rules in society, none of us would have jobs. So, what do you have to say for yourselves?”

Bill looked at Hillary before he looked back at Dudley. He felt as though he could burst. “I love her,” he said. “I love her more than I love this precinct, and I love her more than I love music.” He looked back at her. “She’s the love of my life, and if it were allowed, I’d run up and down the halls shouting it to everyone I could. I love you, Hillary Rodham.”

Dudley smiled, nodding as he watched them. “Hillary, do you have anything to add?”

She looked towards Bill, squeezing his hand as she did. “I love you, Bill Clinton. I love you more than coffee. I love you more than quiet time in the morning. I’m absolutely, madly in love with you, and I want the whole world to know.”

They looked back at Dudley, still holding hands, knowing that they would no longer be partners. It was worth it in their minds, because although they would no longer be teammates at the station, it didn’t change their status as soulmates. If Hillary were to be honest, she looked forward more to her life with Bill than she did to her ongoing work. It was a sharp contrast from her life six weeks earlier.

“So, we’re clear that you will no longer be partners?”

They nodded. 

“And Bill, you’re clear that you will be transferred to another precinct?”

“I am.”

Dudley dusted off his shirt before looking back to them. “Well, in that case, Bill, you have permission to run up and down the halls declaring your love for Hillary. I’m sure she’d love to see you do it, son.”

Bill smiled and shot up, swinging Dudley’s door open. He ran up and down the precinct halls telling everyone how much he loved Hillary. She was deeply touched, covering her mouth as she laughed profusely while watching him. If he had it his way, he would have proposed to her right then, but he figured that he would wait to do that. He wanted to present her with a ring.

He was out of breath as he came back to her, grabbing her by the waist and lifting her in the air. Holding her, they kissed in front of everyone under the chorus of “oohs” and “ahhs.” She’d never been happier, breathing the air of love itself.


	9. Like a Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No songs in this one. I hope you enjoyed.

She rubbed her belly as she sat on the porch swing at her old house in Park Ridge. Bill was sweating profusely as he mowed the lawn. She learned how to make sweet tea just for him, and she waited to pour him a cold glass once he took a break.

“Baby,” he said, kissing her forehead and smelling of grass. He placed his hand on her round belly, leaning down to kiss it, too. 

“You’re doing a great job,” she said. “When my brothers would mow this yard, they’d always miss a few blades.” She poured him a glass.

He drank it quickly, happy that there was more sweet than tea. “This is delicious, Hilly. I may need to see the dentist after I’m done.”

She hit his shoulder, smiling as he pulled her closer.

“I love you,” he whispered into her hair, watching as the clouds flew by. 

“I love you, too,” she whispered back, playing with his fingers. 

He brought her hand to his lips, kissing her ring as he did. He loved seeing it on her finger—a declaration that she was his. It was getting too tight for her, though, as the pregnancy progressed. No matter what, she never took it off.

The clouds grew in the sky, turning gray. “I should get back out there before the rain starts,” he said, unwrapping his arm from her shoulder. Once he walked off the porch, he turned around to look at her. Just to look at her. His life felt like an unending dream, and he could never look at her enough. She smiled back at him, knowing he needed to stare sometimes. Once he started the lawn mower, she pinched her skin, making sure that it was real, too.


End file.
